


A Hard-Won Happiness

by Verecunda



Series: A Better Shape [2]
Category: Dickensian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 16:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verecunda/pseuds/Verecunda
Summary: In which Miss Havisham is impatient, Mr. Jaggers is obstinate, and, somehow, a compromise is reached.





	A Hard-Won Happiness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fandom_Butterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandom_Butterfly/gifts), [avengerwarlockdetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avengerwarlockdetective/gifts).



> For Fandom_Butterfly and avengerwarlockdetective. I asked for prompts, and they requested more Jaggers/Amelia fixit fluff. I've missed writing for this fandom. :')

“I really can’t understand why you keep that dreadful thing.”

The dreadful thing in question resided on a high shelf in one corner, from which vantage point it glowered down upon the whole office. It was the cast of a man’s face, swollen and twisted into an ugly grimace, with a strange twitch about the nose. A truly odious thing, which had no business in a civilised office, and Amelia sent it a look of distaste as she spoke.

Jaggers, unmoved by her distaste, did not so much as look up from the letter he was reading. “I don’t see what possible objection you can have to Mr. Frobisher, Amelia. Mr. Frobisher never did you any harm, which is more than his master could ever say.”

“But must you put him on display like that?”

He shrugged. “His case got me a good deal of credit. Why should I not put him on display?”

Amelia shook her head, faintly despairing. The truth was, it was not Mr. Frobisher’s macabre, death’s head appearance that she objected to, so much as the fact that Jaggers chose to surround himself with the relics of cases he had lost, rather than those he had won. She knew better than anyone how much he took upon himself for the sake of his clients, and she knew how heavily it weighed on him when he was unable to meet his own demanding expectations. She had spent a long time in the darkness, keeping her house and self as a monument to her own failures, and she hated the thought of him doing anything similar.

That threatened to send her thoughts down an unwelcome path. Quickly, before the cold shadow of the past could reach out for her, she said lightly, “But does it not defeat the purpose, keeping him up there? He does not strike me as a particularly favourable advertisement. Frankly, if I were a potential client, I think I would rather know the name and address of the other gentleman, who _won_ his case.”

He arched his eyebrow at her over his reading-glasses. “Is this your way of telling me you’re dissatisfied with my services, Miss Havisham?”

She smiled. “Mr. Jaggers, you must know by now that my reasons for keeping you are entirely sentimental.”

Quite naturally, she laid her hand over his. At once, his wry expression darkened to a frown, and in a tone like a warning he said, “Amelia, we had an agreement.”

Yes, she thought, with a creeping sense of frustration, they had an agreement. An eminently sensible agreement, born out of a need for discretion, to keep their private attachment and professional relationship separate. But Jaggers was so obdurate upon the point, so absolute in observing it, that he could be maddening. She was not even entirely sure why it should make her feel that way. Perhaps it was that there was an element of deception that she found distasteful. Or perhaps it was simply that she had left convention behind long ago (in truth, no one in her situation could have done otherwise), and now simply found the accepted bounds of propriety rather suffocating. Whatever the reason, she often found herself losing patience with the whole stricture.

“Well, sir,” she said, taking her hand away and drawing herself up, “if you wish only to talk about professional matters, the Gatcombe and Tantony business isn’t urgent, you may deal with that at your own convenience. But I am anxious to have this contract with Mr. Dombey settled as soon as possible. You know what he’s like. If you could look it over this afternoon, then bring it round tonight? I expect I’ll be at the brewery until at least seven, so shall we say eight o’clock?”

He acknowledged this with a nod. “Eight o’clock, then.”

And that was all. She gathered up her bonnet and gloves, ready to leave. He folded up his glasses, stood, and moved over to shelve the papers he had been dealing with. It was all perfectly proper, and if there had been anyone else there to witness them, they would never imagined that there was anything between the two of them but a steady, long-standing professional connexion. Amelia suppressed another flare of vexation, and turned to leave.

Suddenly, he said, “I don’t do this merely to be eccentric, Amelia.”

She turned back to him. His severe self-possession had vanished, and he was looking at her with those eyes, those infinitely dark, warm, earnest eyes: that astonishing depth of feeling that he kept trammelled up within himself, and so rarely permitted himself to show. At the sight of him, her impatience softened, dwindled, and died away altogether.

“I know,” she said softly. “I know. I just wish…” She reached for the right words, missed them, and sighed. “I just think there is such a thing as being over-cautious.”

“I told you before,” he said, intractable, “I have no intention of taking advantage of you.”

“And we both know you would never do any such thing.”

“No,” he agreed. “Amelia, I saw you fall apart, then put yourself back together. I saw what it all cost you, and I’m not willing to risk anything that might - compromise you.”

“I’m amazed you think you could.” Gently, she touched his arm, tense beneath her fingers. “Jaggers, I would not even be standing here now if not for you.”

He offered her a very grave smile, and shook his head. “Your recovery was all your own doing, Amelia. I had nothing to do with it.”

“That’s true,” she allowed. “But I don’t think I could have kept it up so well if I did not have you.” Forgetting caution, she reached up and touched his cheek. He did not draw away. “I’m here, Jaggers. And I just wish you would think of that, rather than brooding over the Mr. Frobishers of this world.”

“I do.” Suddenly, he took her hands in his, looking at her intently. “And that’s how I bear them - the Frobishers, the Tulkinghorns. Amelia, you make them bearable.”

“Then, please,” she said, “all I ask is that you don’t be so _inflexible_. By all means, let us show restraint when we must, but I promise you, I will not crumble to dust if you just take my hand in this office now and again.” To prove her point, she closed her hands about his, threading her fingers through his, the tips brushing lightly against his knuckles, rough where his soap had dried the skin. 

“I’m here,” she said again, “and I suppose there is always a part of me that needs to be reminded that you are here, too.”

“I am,” he said. “Always.”

She raised her eyes to his, and what might have happened in the next moment she couldn’t tell, but just then a knock at the door caused them both to start, and in an instant they had extricated themselves and assumed a rather more businesslike appearance. Only then did Jaggers call, “Yes?”

The door cracked open, and the busy head of his clerk appeared. In a tone of apology, he said, “Beg pardon, Mr. Jaggers - Miss Havisham - but Messrs. Dodson and Fogg are outside. They insist on seeing you straight away.”

Jaggers’ face took on a hard, forbidding expression, and Amelia had the impression he was contemplating stringing up Messrs. Dodson and Fogg and putting their likenesses up on the shelf next to Mr. Frobisher. She bit down upon a smile.

“Do they, now?” he said coldly. “Well, Wemmick, you may tell Dodson and Fogg that they’ll have to wait until my business with Miss Havisham is concluded.”

Wemmick’s mouth stretched in a faintly conspiratorial smile. “Yes, sir.” Then, with a quick, curious look between them, he ducked back out. Amelia waited until she heard the click of the door closing, before turning back to Jaggers with a wry smile.

“And do I make the Dodsons and Foggs bearable, too?”

Without a single flicker of his expression, he said, “Hm. I don’t think there is a single earthly power that could make those parasites bearable. But if there was, I’m sure you would manage it.” He looked at her: an intent, almost fierce look. Then something in him - some last thread of reserve - yielded, and he said, very quietly, “Come here.”

She put out her hands and he took them, drawing her close enough to take her in his arms. Out the corner of her eye, from this vantage point, Mr. Frobisher’s expression suggested he was wrinkling his nose in disapproval at this appalling display of sentiment. And since she was pleased to defy Mr. Frobisher, she brought her hands up to Jaggers’ shoulders, nestling closer into the embrace. He sighed against her cheek, laid his brow against hers, and for a long time there was nothing else in the world but the warmth and familiarity of him, the silence that surrounded them suffused with words all unspoken, but understood all the same. He was here, and so was she. Their happiness had been hard-won, and if they might occasionally find themselves at odds over how best to protect it, well, that was a small price to pay.

“You are the most impossible man,” she whispered.

With her eyes still closed, she could not see his face, but his answering smile was evident enough in his voice as he replied, “Only fitting, since I fell in with the most impossible woman.”

She laughed softly, and outside in the hall, Dodson and Fogg were obliged to wait just a little longer.


End file.
